Hit The Bottle
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: *SPOILERS for Brutal series* The Victor of the 45th Hunger Games, as seen in the third ending of What If, turns to alcohol to ease his troubles but finds reason to turn away. Rated T for, well, alcohol.
1. Raivis

**Raivis**

The door to my house creaks shut behind me as I step inside for the first time in well over a month.

What little remains of my family isn't here. Although I got to see them both at the train station, my brother had to head to work, and I'm not sure where Dad headed. But that's okay. I'd rather not be around Dad if I can help it, and I can wait a while to catch up with my brother.

So I get the house all to myself for a while. I guess that's kind of nice.

Not sure what to do—on weekends like these, I'm usually doing schoolwork or hanging out with my brother—I just pace around the living room for a while. Inadvertently brushing my hand against the beat-up, dirt-brown fabric couch, I'm suddenly acutely aware of the empty space behind my ring finger. I stop pacing and examine my hand.

Everything's normal until where the pinky once was. There, the skin dips down to cover just below the bottom knuckle as well as a small portion of missing hand on the side.

I kind of wish I got the prosthetic, but... Apparently, my finger was cut off at such a place they couldn't give me anything I could move. If I wanted to have a movable pinky again, they would have had to, er, r-replace my whole hand.

And I'm all right like this. It hasn't affected me much—of course, I haven't done that much without it just yet—and... I don't know. I'm scared that, if I replace it, I might forget. I'm fine with forgetting V-V-Vahn, but there's no way I could let myself forget Amer and Eston. I probably wouldn't forget them, anyway, but it's nice to know I'll always have some sort of reminder.

—I jump about five centimetres when someone knocks at the door.

Tripping over my feet, I regain some composure and slowly start back for it.

Who could be here? It's still mid-morning, so my brother won't be on lunch break or anything. And Dad's not the kind to knock. He usually just barges in and scares the living daylights out of me—I've gotten more and more certain it's completely intentional—so it can't be him.

Well... I-I guess I should still open it...

Quivering a little harder, I click the sometimes-dysfunctional lock unlocked and pull the door toward me carefully.

"Hello!" The Capitol accent makes me cringe before I even set sight on the visitors.

One, who just spoke, is a woman in her early twenties with an almost-natural orange skin tone; she's dressed kind of normally, but the unnatural way her eyes slant is frightening. The other, behind her, is a grinning man with dark black, stencilled glasses and sloppy, violet hair; he's dressed in a nice suit, but his skin is a much more outstanding shade of red that seems terrifyingly close to the colour of blood.

"H-h-h-h-h-h-hello?" I respond, standing in the same place since I'm not comfortable with letting these people inside but don't know if I'm able to turn them back.

"I'm Albina," the woman continues, holding out a hand to shake, which I'm scared to touch, "and this is Faustus."

"A-a-a-and I'm Raivis?" I respond, a little bewildered still.

Albina giggles loudly before nudging the door open to come in. Intimidated, I just get out of the way.

"We know who you are, silly!" says she.

Faustus follows her inside, a folding computer or something in his arms. Albina frowns a little at the poor accommodations before directing Faustus and me to the couch.

"First, may I say I'm honoured to meet you!" Albina continues, looking at me with what would be a wonderful smile if her eyes didn't make her look malicious. "It's so amazing to see a real, live Victor—in person!" she continues, in her excitement embracing me before she even notices what she's doing. Flustered, I just stare back at her not knowing how I'm supposed to respond.

"Oh!" Albina starts, covering her mouth to stifle the newest wave of giggles. "I guess I should get to why I'm here! So," she says, crossing her legs since the couch is barely wide enough for the three of us, "you know that whole thing where, uh, Amy? Ay... Oh! Amer told you to turn around so you wouldn't have to see that whole business?"

Not knowing what this is leading to but feeling rising terror nonetheless, I nod.

"A-well," continues Albina, stretching her arms, "the Gamemakers I work for decided that wasn't a proper victory for you. They said all of the Victors deserve to see their accomplishments! Which seems kind of weird to me, 'cause that wasn't really an accomplishment on your part, but you're a Victor, so it is, and I'm getting off-topic." She clears her throat. "So! We've decided to show you your victory on this thing!" She motions to the technology Faustus is setting up. "We couldn't get the most advanced sound tech, but the picture's so great it'll be just like you were really there! Well, you were, but it'll be like it again!"

I stare dumbfoundedly, aware my tremors have crept up to a much stronger level.

"Wh-wh-wh-what?" I finally croak hollowly.

Albina giggles again at my reaction. "You're going to get to actually see your victory, silly!"

I jump up from the couch and start backing away. "N-n-n-n-nuh-uh! I-I-I-I-I'm not w-w-watching th-that!" My voice rises to a strangely high pitch. "I'm n-n-n-n-not watching th-th-that!"

"Yes, you are!" Albina sings, still giggling a little. "C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"N-n-n-n-no! I-I-I-I won't! I... I-I-I'll close my eyes!"

"Oh, come on, Raivis!" Albina slides up next to me and grabs my shoulders. "_You don't think we can't prevent something like that, do you_?"

With a strangled cry of fear, I try to squirm out of her grasp, but she easily guides me back to the couch.

"Now, don't close your eyes, Raivis," she beseeches as Faustus presses a few buttons. "I'd hate to have to pry them open on a cute little guy like you!"

Too scared of receiving this treatment to defy her, I just whimper in resignation as Faustus's device flickers to life, submerging the room into gravel and mountainside. The image swallows the Capitolites but leaves me standing right in the spot I occupied then.

"Now... T-turn around, Raivis. You don't need to see this." Amer's voice makes my breath catch in my throat, and he looks straight at me with such brotherly love I feel tears spill down my cheeks.

Amer looks back over at Eston, the other me apparently having turned around. Were it not for the threat of prying my eyes open and surely other, worse things, I would turn around here, too. But I'm frozen to this spot, unable to safely make any motion other than shaking.

"You're sure... You're sure you want to do this?" Amer quietly asks, the sound hauntingly the same as what I couldn't keep from hearing the first time. Trembling, Eston doesn't even try to form words, only nodding and lifting his hood over his head and eyes.

I find my hands travelling to my own eyes, but with strain stop them. I-I don't want to see this, but it can't be as bad as what they would do to me... And I'd _still _have to w-watch it...

Trying to take a deep breath but crying too hard to do so, I watch Amer shakily stretch his glove tighter over his hand. He hesitates, just sitting there sobbing for a moment, before clenching his teeth and slicing open Eston's throat. Just as the pain registers on Eston's face, Amer claws through his own neck.

The screams of pain, the choking, I thought were the worst things I would ever experience. But I'm hearing them again, paired with the images of the blood rushing out, the weak thrashing, Amer still sobbing until the last trace of life leaves him.

Just as they both lay still, the cannons fire. Next I know is the announcement of my victory, but I don't hear it. I'm screaming too hard. I don't notice the image fading back to my living room because my eyes are closed too tight.

I don't know how long I'm like this. I know Albina is grabbing at my arms, telling me to calm down, but I don't obey. I know it's a very long time before I can ease out of it the slightest bit.

By then Albina and Faustus are already gone. It's just me, grabbing the sides of my head, trying to find reason not to lapse back into screaming and coming up blank.

I don't even know what's going on. I just want it to stop. But how can I stop this? _That_, the two of them dying _painfully_, the two best friends I've ever had _dying, dying, dying...!_

I don't know exactly when I stumble off the couch, but I know I'm trying to find something. I don't know what, I just know I can't do this. I can't do this. I have to make this stop. How can I make this stop?

I shake too hard not to trip every step as I frantically go about the house.

What am I supposed to do? There has to be something, _something_—!

I knock my shin on a knob for a low cupboard. Mildly distracted by the pain, I glance down. The door has swung open a little, revealing several rows of clear bottles with clear contents.

This is Dad's... vodka... That helps people forget, doesn't it?

Dad would kill me.

But I really don't care.

Flinging the door wide open in urgency, I grab the closest bottle, rip off the cap, and start chugging.


	2. Esto

**Esto**

Wiping some coal-dust-infused sweat from my hand onto my pants, I get out my key and unlock our front door.

"Raivis!" I call, still joyous at the thought he's back for me to warn. "It's me!" I open the door and am a bit surprised the living room light hasn't been turned on yet.

"Raivis? Are you already asleep?" I don't get a response.

Weird. It's not that late yet...

I call his name again but still don't get a response. Unnerved now, I flick on the light and start looking around. He's nowhere in the living room, so I start walking further.

Where could he have run off to? He's too paranoid to go off somewhere by himself; he must just be asleep somewhere.

Although I'm pretty sure about this, the kitchen/dining room area is closer, so I go ahead and investigate it. Nothing's outstanding until I get to the cupboard. Halfway open, one of the doors at the bottom of the cabinet commands my attention.

Wait. Isn't this... Isn't this where Dad keeps his...?

"Raivis!" I call louder, fear readily stabbing through my veins. Still not getting a response, I hurry into the next closest part of the house, the short hallway linking the kitchen to me and Raivis's room. And I finally find my brother.

He's lying prone, his limbs are splayed out at random, and his head is turned sideways, connecting with a little puddle of vomit. And then, just to the side of his right hand, a bone-dry bottle from _that_ cabinet sits ominously.

Almost choking with fear and desperately hoping that bottle wasn't full when he got hold of it, I frantically grab his closest arm and check his pulse. I almost cry in relief when I catch a steady one. I discern his chest is still rising and falling, and although it's not that strong a motion, it's not changing.

Trying to get _myself _back breathing, I take a second to grab the closest kitchen rag and start to wipe up the mess, first off of him, and then the splintery wood floor. Settling down just enough from the work, I try to figure out what on earth could have happened. He hasn't been acting that strange. This morning, he wasn't jumping around and proclaiming his love of life or anything, but he wasn't depressed or faking smiles when we met up. He wouldn't dare to touch the television, so he couldn't have been thrown off by that. Was he just mulling over things too much because he was alone? He was more or less alone all the train ride back, so you'd think he would have already gotten himself down in the dumps if that's the case.

So what... What could have happened...?

Finished mopping up, I drop the rag in the sink and run just enough water over it to wash away most of the smell. I then return to where my brother is lying. It doesn't take much to decide to get him to the bed.

...

Now what? Does he need a medic? He doesn't look in that bad a condition now... And it looks like if the bottle was full enough to do him damage, he already got rid of the excess... Maybe... I'm no doctor, I know that, but...

Oh, I don't know! I'll just... I'll just keep an eye on him, and if anything looks bad, I'll go track down the nearest medic and hope she isn't busy.

Though I'm still unsettled, I manage to clean myself off some before returning to our room. For once thankful we have to share a mattress, I settle down and check his pulse again. He's still there, and though it takes a while, I manage to doze off, drifting back into wakefulness periodically and checking on him every time.

The pulse never ebbs, and I soon find myself waking up to morning light. Bleary-eyed, I push the sheets away from me, stand up, and stretch. My brother's still fast-asleep, with much less fidgeting than usual, and I'm not sure whether or not I want to wake him.

Well, I don't think extra sleep could hurt him much. And he really needs to catch up after all the insomnia in the Games. He'd probably be this out whether or not he drank... however much he did.

At least it's a Sunday, so I don't have to go to my still-new place of employment. While I probably won't be pacing his bedside all day, I'm glad I'll at least be _able _to.

I end up whipping up a small breakfast of powdery, cheap egg substitute for myself and choking it down rather quickly. I check on my still-dormant brother before returning to scrub the plate clean-ish and use some of the runoff to finish cleaning out the rag from last night. Slapping the cloth over the faucet to dry, I put the plate back up and tiptoe back to the bedroom.

This time, my brother's not so still. Kicking a little at the sheets, he keeps his eyes closed but can't decide which side to settle on. I hold my breath, as if disturbing him would make him fall back asleep and not wake up.

His eyes flash open.

Jumping a little at this, I watch as he scrunches his eyes back shut and moans, fumbling around with his hands until he finds a pillow to hold over his head.

He's okay! _He's okay_...!

I start toward him slowly, keeping my breathing as silent as I can.

"R-Raivis?" I whisper.

His only response is a louder groan and a twitchy shift of his legs. I take a chance—although I'm not sure why I consider this risky—and sit down next to him. I'm about to repeat his name quietly when he mumbles something.

"What?" I ask, voice not quite as hushed as I was planning.

"Turn off the lights," he repeats, his voice strained and gravelly.

I look up at the empty ceiling in confusion. "Um, that's just light from the window... Can't really, uh, turn it off?"

My brother makes an odd growling sound and rolls to the other side, pillow still held firmly over his head. He begrudgingly notifies me that "it hurts" before groaning again and crossing his arms over the top pillow. Not sure what I'm supposed to do about that, I just sit quietly and allow myself a bit of happiness that my brother didn't get seriously hurt. Although he's certainly groaning enough to imply otherwise. Without stimulus, he pauses in his pained noisemaking and lets out a heavy sigh.

But that's much less of a surprise than what happens next.

"Get me more."

It takes me a second to figure out what he's talking about, and then I just stare at him. "What...?"

With a precise motion, he lifts the pillow off his head and gives me a hard look. "My. Head. Hurts," he enunciates angrily. "Get. Me. More. Vodka."

I keep staring at him, although I'm unnerved by this mood that I've never seen him in in his life.

"U-Um," I finally stammer, "h-hang on a minute. You-you're barely recovering from the last drink, and I don't think that would help—"

Suddenly leaping at me, my brother grabs the front of my shirt and shrieks, "_Get it_!" The clear "I'm going to kill you" look on his face shocks me out of my wits, and I find myself sputtering a "yes, sir" and stumbling back over to the cupboard. Once the next full bottle is in my hand, I stare at it for a minute, trying to figure out what I'm doing. Not making any progress on that front, I dazedly make my way back to the bedroom and hand the accursed thing over. My brother snatches it greedily and takes a larger-than-I'd-like swig from it before clutching it to his chest. Taking deep breaths, he gives me a look of suspicion that I'm going to take it from him before finally calming down a little and leaning back on the bed's headrest and the wall behind it. He doesn't loosen his grip, but the crazed look in his eyes slowly gives way to a dull, vacant one.

Timidly, I glance at the bottle and wonder if he's in enough of a stupor to let me take it away. He catches me looking, though, and skittishly turns away from me.

I take a deep breath of my own before deciding he must be back to himself enough not to attack me again.

"Are you okay?" I ask so quietly the words are hard to pick out. My brother looks back at me for a while, his eyes despairing. He thinks for a moment, some tremors creeping back in, before suddenly jerking the bottle back to his lips and gulping.

"H-Hey!" I grab the thing myself and force it away, but not before he's had enough to start slumping numbly. Hands trembling, I swing the bottle out of his reach and hold it there for a minute, but it's obvious he's not going to be jumping after it any time soon. Not sure what else to do, I get the lid back on the bottle and put it away.

By the time I reenter the bedroom, my brother's eyes are closed, and he's not stopping himself from sliding down to the floor. I pick him up before he gets that far and put him stably back on the bed. Wondering if he's already unconscious, I prod him a little. He doesn't respond.

I just seat myself next to him, scared for his health, his sanity, and what he's going to do to himself when I have to leave.


	3. Raisa

**Raisa**

"Ready?"

I nod, shifting my fingers over my husband's and the object in his grasp, and together we hold it over the sink, lying in wait.

Shivering a little from excitement, my husband exhales a few times before counting us off. "One... Two... Three!"

With a uniform twist of our wrists, we turn the bottle upside-down and watch in delight as the last of its contents swirl down the drain.

"That's it." My husband gives a little laugh of elation. "I'm done! Done for good...!" In his excitement, he turns to give me an unannounced kiss before we both break off laughing giddily.

"It must feel so wonderful," I put in, snuggling into his side a little and inadvertently making him stumble a bit. "I... I don't know what it was like, but it can't have been good."

He thinks on my words for a moment, and his countenance falls a little.

"Oh!" I wrap my arms around him tight. "I'm sorry! You don't have t-to think about it if it hurts!"

He returns my embrace with one arm and looks me in the eye with a sad smile. "No, it's okay... I mean, the worse it was, th-the better it is that I'm done with it, right?"

I nod feverishly. With an almost-inaudible sigh, my husband leans back a little against the marble counter behind us.

"And it was p-pretty bad," he continues, tilting his head back with his eyes closed.

"I believe you," I respond quickly. "But really, w-we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. We can j-just... um..." Before I can name an activity, my husband turns his head back to look at me.

"Well, I-I don't want to keep secrets from you or anything," he mumbles. Managing another twitchy smile, he continues, "It's not much to share, anyway... I can't remember most of it, after all." He exhales. "Just a lot of... blurry headaches. I can sort of remember waking up in Victor's Village for the first time, but I have no idea when. I don't think I was conscious when they finally got the new house patched up from..." he trails off, scrunching up his eyebrows a little to recall a memory. "...A hailstorm, or something. I didn't know then; my brother told me later," he clarifies. "Just like p-pretty much everything else. Like when he finally got to ditch his new job..." He laughs, a bit jittery. "They wouldn't let him off at first because they couldn't believe he was my brother."

That's credible; they don't look much alike, and they don't act all that similar, either. Although you'd think his boss would have paid a little more attention to ceremonies and things... Wait, _did _they ever show Esto on those? I can't really say... I was too busy going crazy that Raivis had gotten out... That, and the video they showed was... w-was...

Thankfully, my husband continues speaking.

"He still couldn't stop me when he got home, though," he mumbles. "Apparently, I'm... n-not a very good guy to deal with when I'm hung over..." He shivers a little, and I wonder if he's leaving anything out. "And then, he couldn't keep me from g-getting it on my own, either. Didn't lock up the doors strong enough, I broke in; locked them up too much, D-Dad couldn't get his share..." He shakes his head. "None of us wanted to deal with my dad... N-no one ever did. The kind of things he did..." He swallows. "I probably i-inherited some of my drinking habits from him... Th-that's not something anyone should try to be..."

Lower lip trembling, I try to nuzzle his neck comfortingly. "Y-you poor thing!"

He mumbles something about it being okay.

"S-so... that's why you decided t-to quit?" I find myself asking.

He pauses, staring up at the ceiling for a minute. "Sort of. I-it was... more of a one time d-deal, though." He doesn't say anything more for a moment, but before I can speak, he decides to go ahead and tell me.

It was just another day that started with a hangover. As always, he planned on drinking it away. Grabbed the first bottle he found and stumbled off a bit before realising the thing was almost completely empty. He tried to drink what little remained, but it didn't ease his headache in the least. Furious, he trudged back to the place with the bottles.

But this time his father was standing in front of it. Raivis didn't, and still doesn't, know whether his father decided to make the process stop for his son's health, or whether he simply had enough of someone else drinking all of his alcohol. Raivis ordered him to move. He wouldn't. Raivis tried this several times, getting more and more enraged and his voice getting more and more piercing every time he repeated it. His father still refused to move.

This last piece of resistance launched Raivis over the edge.

Unable to see any other way to get what he was dying for, he screamed and attacked, smashing the bottle onto his father's neck. Either the hangover had somehow made Raivis quick, or something else had made his father slow, because the older hardly budged as the thin glass shattered over his neck and shoulder. After the impact, his father finally seemed to register the assault, and, scrabbling at the chunks of glass embedded in his skin, fell back. At least sober enough to know his son had caused this, he then looked up at Raivis with the fiercest murderous glare anyone in this world could manage.

Raivis wasn't quite out-of-it enough to not be terrorised. Fear of his father was so ingrained into him he couldn't help but come to his terrified little senses.

His father started to get back up.

In pained panic, Raivis dropped the piece of bottle remaining in his hand and stumbled away as fast as he could. Although not a full thought could pass through his pounding head, he had enough instinct to get to the closest closet and shut the door fast. Suddenly aware of, and infinitely grateful his equally-tyrannised brother must have put in, a lock from the inside, he twisted it and collapsed to the ground.

He doesn't remember trembling that hard in his life. His father gave up pursuit soon enough, but that wasn't the only terror of the situation. Although he didn't think he was in condition to remember anything, the image of the glass and blood over his father's skin was ingrained in his head.

"It wasn't that much, really," continues my husband, "but... You know, Amer—" he can't help but look down and smile sadly at the name—"used less glass to kill Sadik. I got to thinking, i-if I were just a-a little further off, I-I... I may have k-killed my own father..." He looks back up at me, a few tears brimming in his eyes but a smile beneath. "I-I was just going to completely stop, then and there... But my headaches... They turned out worse than normal hangovers, a-and I wouldn't let myself drink any of the pain away anymore..."

He continues, telling me it got so bad he couldn't make himself move.

And then his brother walked into his room with a half-full shotglass.

Raivis adamantly refused, terrified even a drop would swing him back into his horrible alcohol abuse. But his brother insisted he couldn't go on that bad a binge and get away with going cold turkey. Finally, unable to stand the headache any longer, Raivis's will broke down, and he accepted Esto's proposition.

"And it worked!" I put in with a warm smile. My husband beams back at me, and I can't help but plant another little kiss.

"It worked," he echoes with a little laugh. "It took a while, but that's all right... I mean, I wouldn't have been doing much productive, anyway." He suddenly blushes and gives a start. "I-I mean—! I-I-I mean, u-unless I-I could have met you earlier! Well, we already met a-at school, b-but... u-uh..." He breaks off, bewildered in trying to find something right to say.

In a mad fit of giggles, I interrupt him. "I-I get it, you romancer, you...!" I try to add more, but I'm laughing too hard. Relaxing a little, my husband joins me.

He's had a rough time, but he's conquered his addiction. He still has to worry about the incoming tributes, but he can handle it as long as his brother and I are here for him. And he'll have to put up with me for quite a while yet, but judging by the ring on my finger, I don't think he minds.

I don't know what all the future holds for us. But I know, for Raivis and me both, the worst is over.


End file.
